Wake Up, Little Bessie - An 1871 Poem

Past six o'clock in the morning,

And Bessie is still sound asleep;

Of this wonderful, rosy dawning

She's had not so much as a peep.

The birds 'neath her windows are wild

With their efforts to waken the world;

They think 'tis an indolent child

Under the coverlid curled.

 

For they have been up since the dawn,

With rosy touch painted the east,

And from hillside, meadow and lawn

Have gathered their morning feast;

Have poured out the joy of their hearts

In many a sweet roundelay;

And now they are lonely for Bessie,

And are calling her out to her play.

 

"Wake up, little Bessie! they cry.

"And spring from your soft, downy nest,

The sun is far up in the sky,

The fresh air out here is the best,

At the very first glimmer of light

That tipped the gray hills far away,

We sung good-bye to the night

And welcomed the fair, rosy day.

 

"We flocked to your window in crowds,

And tapped with our beaks on the pane;

We gave you a grand matinee,

Then back to our home flew again.

We bathed in the brook 'neath the hill

And dressed all our feathers with care,

We are back to your window, and still

Find you sleeping so lazily there.

 

"The robin is picking his berry,

The woodpecker taps on the tree,

The thrush on the bough of the cherry,

Calls loudly for you and for me;

Then wake, little girl, in the morning,

When the flowers are all bathing in dew,

When the wonderful beauty belonging

To young life is fresh, bright and new."

June 3, 1871. Ashtabula Weekly Telegraph 22(22): 1.